


Lestrade Is So Done With Sherlock Holmes and John Watson and Their Bulllshit

by TheColdEastWind



Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-28 04:43:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10072277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheColdEastWind/pseuds/TheColdEastWind
Summary: Who isn't done with these two idiots? I mean really?





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Queenoftheuniverse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queenoftheuniverse/gifts).



> This work is the full version of the Johnlock from my "Readers Choice" request. I finally got around to completing the damn thing. My hope is that it was worth the wait.
> 
> Now to the Queenoftheuniverse: for all you're kind, silly and encouraging words, this ones for you. Thank you for your patience. Huzzah my friend! Huzzah!

-The Ambulance 

 

The explosion had barely settled, all the emergency personnel and police had shown up just as the dust began to clear. But none of that had stopped John from frantically digging through the rubble screaming with choked lungs and bloodied hands. There was blood poring down his forehead into his eyes abscuring his vision as he was being pulled very much against his will into the back of an ambulance.  
"Let me go! I just need to find him, then I'll let you do what you like. Just let me find him. Please." John was dizzy, and wobbly on his feet as he was settled in. Just then.  
"John!" Sherlock limped forward holding his side and pushing past the crush of people at the scene as best he could in his condition.  
"Sherlock!" Johns heart soared he nearly fainted at the sight of his bloody disheveled genius as he slumped down with relief content now to let the paramedics do their job. Sherlock on the other hand could only see a blood covered John seemingly pass out, which caused a bitter cold in his chest that pushed him forward.  
"Stop there. You need medical attention." A young constable that Sherlock knew to be one of Lestrades, pups put a hand in the middle of Sherlocks chest to stop his progress toward the ambulance.  
"Don't touch me!" Sherlock protested as he stood on tips toes, whenceing trying to see around the man and into the still open ambulance as the paramedics worked on John.  
"John!" Sherlock didn't have much fight in him at the moment but what he had he was going to use to reach John. "Get out of my way! I need to go with him. John!" Sherlock was beginning to get angry, and started a shoving match albeit a weak one with the constable.  
"You can't go with them. Now calm down and I'll get you the help you need."  
"I don't need help, I need John." It seemed like the other man was about to get the better of him when Sherlock decided it was time to end this he gathered himself and punched the younger man in the nose, breaking free and running for John.

~~~

"Hillsten, needs a medic, now Sir." A young officer said to an already overwhelmed Lestrade.  
"What the hell? Why dose...?" It took Lestrade less then a seconds to realize what must have happened after he quickly scanned the area, looking for Sherlock and John."Oh bloody hell! Has no one told him about these two?"  
"No Sir. He told Mr. Holmes, he couldn't ride in the ambulance with Dr. Watson. So he broke Hillstens nose, to get past him."  
"Cores he did. Why would he not. Where's Sherlock now?" Lestrade, was weary.  
"St. Bart's, I'm guessing Sir."  
"And Hillsten?" The officer jabbed his thumb to the left. "Thank you Collins." Lestrade walked over to the pile of rubble where Hillstan, was nursing his injury as best he could. "So let's have a look at you then." He bent down to have a closer look. "Not too bad. Look someone should have...I should have told you this the day you started. Don't get between those two. We've all learned the hard way, that those two are...like..."  
"Brothers?"  
"No. God no, it's hard to explain. Just don't stand in their way when the other ones concerned."  
"They a couple then Sir?"  
"No. Just mates."  
"I never broke a mans nose for my mates Sir, if you'll pardon me saying."  
"Yeah. Me neither."  
Lestrade, rubbed a hand over his face. He was so done with Sherlock Holmes and John Watson and their bullshit.

 

-The Crime Scene 

 

"Are you bloody serious!" Lestrade couldn't believe what he was hearing.  
"Yes Sir. She said she can't work like this and walked out."  
Lestrade took the steps two at a time to the third floor of the building where the bodies had been found arranged around a board room table as if in a meeting.  
"Sherlock! What the hell did you say to the new M.E.?"  
"Nothing. I was mearly saying that had John been here he would have noticed the ligature marks on the wrist and ankles and not have foolishly assumed that five perfectly healthy adults had all suddenly and simultaneously died of natural causes. I mean really George, how stupid is she?"  
"He's not even here!" Lestrade ignored the horrendous mistake.  
"Exactly. How is he supposed to defend his medical prowess in his absence if not for me?" Sherlock looked doe eyed and innocent.  
Lestrade, just closed his eyes and hung his head. He was so done with Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, and their bullshit.

 

-The Pub

 

The slap could be heard across the pub. Sherlock rubbed his face as the small blond stormed away.  
"What the hell?!" Said John and Lestrade in unison as they both walked quickly to Sherlock, John being the fist to reach him. Glancing over his shoulder not sure if he should go after the woman or not.  
"It's nothing." Sherlock rubbed his extremely red cheek. "She asked me if I could introduce her to you since "we're friends and all" because you looked like a good catch and I told her that you don't like strippers, or cats which she has three of and that her twin boys are far too old to ever really see you as a father figure." John laughed as he took Sherlock gently by the chin turning his head to examine his rapidly bruising cheek.  
"Looks bad." John said a little too softly to be speaking to a mate while running his thumb over the angry mark.  
"I'll mend. I have a good doctor." Sherlock smiled prettily and leaned into the touch ever so slightly seemingly unaware of his own actions.  
Lestrade, watched the scene and felt like he was intruding on something very private in the middle of a crowded pub, he groaned, and shook his head, he was so done with Sherlock Holmes and John Watson and their bullshit.

 

-The Station House

 

"All the chargers have been dropped. For now." Lestrade told the man as he uncuffed him. John and Sherlock looked on.  
"I told you! You fuckin wanker!" The criminal pointed at Sherlock as he yelled. John flinched a bit at the curse, holding back his urge to protect.  
"Indeed you did. And I told you, this isn't over." Sherlock said to the man and turned his back to leave. John didn't move.  
"Fuck you, you fucking tosser! I'll have your head for this just you wait." The man took a few steps in Sherlock's direction, John stepped in his path and put his hand up to stop him and the criminal shoved John into a desk. Sherlock turned just in time to see John lay the man out flat with one well placed punch to the jaw. Sherlock smirked, John shook his hand out.  
"What the fuck!" Lestrade was ferious. "What the actual fuck John?"  
"He was going after Sherlock. His back was turned. What was I supposed to do?" John looked innocent.  
"You're in a police station! Full of police! We could have handled it!"  
"But..."  
"No buts! Go back to your flat and sort your shit out! And don't come back to my station house until you do!"  
"What shit?" Sherlock asked, with a puzzled look between John and Lestrade.  
"The shit that makes the two of you a ticking time bomb! The shit that's right in front of your faces that you can't see!" Lestrade, was drawing looks from the whole room, most of which seemed to be in total agreement with every word. "The shit that we all know and you two idiots can't seem to figure out between the two of you! Now go! Go! And don't come back. I'm so done with you and you and your bullshit!" John and Sherlock looked on in confused shocked silence, yet both knew they had pushed Lestrade, too far, and it was no time to test the man. So back to Baker St. as they where told.

 

-The Flat

 

The cab ride home was quite. Both occupants in thought. Once upstairs they took to their respective chairs still just as quite but a bit less confused having been forced to take a closer look at recent events. John could only speak for himself, but things had been...warmer between them of late, nothing too grand, it just seemed that they where...leaning into each other, pulled physically closer, brushing the backs of their hands together unable, or unwilling to be apart for long, finding the smallest reason for nearness or accidental touch. John took the first step.  
"You broke a mans nose."  
"He wouldn't let me pass." Sherlock said matter of factly without looking away from the fire. (Mrs. "Not Your Housekeeper" Hudson was a god send.) "And I didn't know if you were...alright. What was I supposed to do?" He added a little sheepishly.  
"Wait. Follow in a cab." John said flatly.  
"Is that what you would have done?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow.  
"Nope. I would have done exactly what you did." John looked up at the man across from him.  
"Well see." Sherlock threw up his hands."What's wrong then."  
John laced his fingers and leaned forward on his knees.  
"I would have killed that man today if he'd touched you."  
"That's what friends do." Sherlock said quickly, and looked away from the knowing blue-gray stare. Sherlock knew as sure as he did that hydrogen and helium caused the Big Bang, that if he stayed in that blue grasp of Johns eyes, his carefully constructed walls would crumble. He would crumble.  
"No. It's not. Really it's not. I've got plenty of mates, none of which I fear for the way I do for you."  
"Then if we're not friends...what are we?" As soon as the words where out of Sherlock's mouth he wanted to run to his room and barricade the door behind him. The question hung in the air. Growing, consuming everything around it, touching every dark corner...John could see the panic brewing in Sherlock's eyes. This question could change their entire world forever, but John found that once asked, he wanted to answer. And answer honestly. But Sherlock had grown paler, (was that even possible?) and John knew he had to give the poor man a way out.  
"Do you really want to ask that question Sherlock? Because there's no coming back." Sherlock closed his eyes, took a deep breath, steepled his fingers and rested them lightly on his lips. They had never been this close to their personal truths before. Sherlock was a careless risk taker in all aspects of his life, but to risk John was to risk all. He let his breath go and gave John a look that was equal parts trust, anticipation and honesty. He swallowed hard.  
"I do still hate to repeat myself John."  
Here was his genius with the most open and genuine, expression, playing across the plans of his face and yet he still tried to hold on to the last shred of arrogance. John couldn't help but smile. He had always wondered quietly in the back of his mind, in his most private times, what this defining moment would be like. Soft, was the word that came to mind. So that's how John approached it.  
"I'm going to explain this the easiest way I know how." John beckoned Sherlock to lean in closer as he spoke doing the same. He slipped form his chair and braced himself on Sherlock's knee. Nearly nose to nose, Sherlock was almost panting, his lips just the slightest bit parted. John closed his eyes and just marveled in the sent of Sherlock. The sweet heat of his breath, John filled his lungs and removed the last bit of distance between them. John lost his soul in that moment. Forever gone. Forever Sherlock's. Sherlock who's breath was soft, who's lips where soft, who's moan in the back of his throat was soft. John pulled back. He licked his lips and smiled. Sherlock sat quickly back in his leather chair wit a "thawp" noise. Pupils wide, cheeks flushed, running his fingers tentatively over his lips.  
"John. What...what was that?" John saw the opportunity to state the obvious here, but knew it was the wrong time. The moment was fragile. And Sherlock for all his bluster was fragile too.  
"More then friends." There was a hit of a question to Johns words, that Sherlock did not miss.  
"More." The word was a doubles entendre, and John was almost shock by the wickedness that lit Sherlock's eyes just before he swooped in for another kiss. Still soft, but more sure with an urgency, that John found intoxicating. Sherlock was on his knees now, nestled in between Johns, one hand resting high up on Johns left thigh, the other planted dead enter of Johns chest. John tried to keep things slow, but this kiss was building into something else. The hand that had rested on his chest was now a fist full of his button down, where the thumb of Sherlock's other hand slid back and forth over his thigh causing a dangerous reaction. John moved forward in his chair a bit, parting his legs, settling Sherlock's body against his. And that's when things changed. The kissing stopped. And Sherlock pulled back just enough to look down at the bulge in Johns trousers. When he looked back up at John his eyes where wide. But not with fear, no more like wonder. His chest was heaving, his lips where a pink John had never seen, and his eyes...god those eyes. John was gripping the arms of his chair with both hands, and his whole body trembled. Slowly, he let himself touch Sherlock's face, brushing his knuckles over his cheekbone, down to the corner of his mouth where Sherlock turned and ghosted a few light kisses to Johns knuckles. Johns breath stopped. This was the most erotic thing he'd ever seen. He buried both his hands in Sherlock's curls, and tugged his head back, hungry exposing the slander bow of his neck, and that one freckle, that one that had taunted and teased him for years, John put his mouth over that spot and sucked. Sherlock jerked, his grasp on John became tighter, their bodies closer now moving against each other. Everything was a frenzy of kiss and motion, and sound. John was suffering the sweetest possible death imaginable, his cock throbbing against the fabric of his pants, it was painful, he wanted it to stop, he never wanted it to stop. But it had to. Didn't it? Wasn't this all moving far too fast for Sherlock? John slowed the kiss to a stop and pulled back, not away, just creating the smallest amount of space.  
"John?" Sherlock's voice hushed and dark, thick like honey.  
"This is brilliant. But we should stop. Slow down. Talk."  
Sherlock was beyond puzzled, for the space of about a second.  
"Why? So we can "get to know one another " find out each other's bad habits, and nasty little secrets, what's your favorite jumper, how I take my tea, that my parents are boring, or that Harry, is your sister, we've talked John. We've talked for years. And it has been agonizingly slow. "  
At some point in his speech Sherlock had stood up, and John realized with something akin to elation that Sherlock was taking off his clothes as he spoke. By the time he was done talking he was standing inches away from John, completely utterly beautifully naked. The fire light danced over the pale canvas touching things John had only dreamt of, and he found that he was quite jealous of the fire light in that moment.  
"Besides, Lestrade, practically ordered us to "sort our shit out" it would be dereliction of duty if we didn't." Sherlock had walked away from John at this point and was waiting at the threshold to his room. "Coming?" He said over his shoulder giving John the most perfect view of his bottom.  
"Oh god yes." 

 

-Two Days Later

The sound of the mobile was blaring to Johns ears. He had only fallen asleep an hour ago and the sun was barely up even now. Sherlock was like a twenty year old in a cock candy store. He reluctantly turned his face away from the honey scented curls he had been breathing in and gopped for his mobile off Sherlock's nightstand, his voice was ragged.  
"Hello."  
"You alright mate? You sound awful." Greg asked.  
"Who is that?" Sherlock's sleepy deep baritone rumble near Johns ear his nose bumping Johns neck.  
"It's Greg." John was bone tired and only wanted to turn back into Sherlock's curls and sleep. Well maybe a quick shag and then sleep. At that moment as if he'd read Johns thoughts as usual, Sherlock pressed his lean frame against the length of Johns side, rolling his hips suggestively sending a jolt through Johns whole body that came to rest firmly in his cock.  
"Who?" Sherlock yawned his question and continued his hip motion, his hands now joining his travels along Johns back and shoulders, down to his bottom, and back up to start anew.  
"Greg Lestrade." Johns voice was strained, his cock began to tighten uncomfortably under him as he was laying on his stomach, he turned to his side.  
"Was that Sherlock?" John couldn't sure but, was that laughter he hard in Greg's voice?  
"Well yeah." John was too distracted by Sherlock's cock rubbing on his thigh, his lips making a path over his shoulder, his stubble scraped across sensitive skin, to make any kind of plausible denial.  
"Mmmm. Do tell Greg, it's all sorted." Sherlock took full advantage now of the new position sucking Johns neck, and running his hand over the knob of his hip bone, the flat of his stomach, and finding his goal. Johns cock heavy and hot. Sherlock sucked in breath as his fingers wrapped around Johns girth, making the older man jerk.  
"Jesus Sherlock! I'm on the phone." Sherlock laughed low in his throat, a sound that John loved the instant he'd herd it for the fist time last night.  
"Then get off. Or don't. No matter, I'm still going to suck you till you cum down my throat." The little wanker.  
"Greg, call you back." The line went dead.  
Lestrade was so done with Sherlock Holmes and John Watson and their bullshit.


End file.
